


Shadow of Moraband

by mariusgaaazzh



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Game), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: An AU no one asked for, Galadriel is a head of the Jedi Council, Gen, Guilt, Redemption, Sauron is a Sith, conversations about the nature of the force, i heavily dislike the concept of grey jedi, questionable use of Battle Meditation, the importance of validating your friend's identity, when you're both dead and surrounded by terrible evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariusgaaazzh/pseuds/mariusgaaazzh
Summary: A Republic Commando and a Jedi Consular bound together in un-death on the ancient planet of Sith Lords, Moraband. Only what kind of Jedi would Celebrimbor be?





	

**Author's Note:**

> for aknightowl, my partner in star wars, tolkien, and winning eternal glory. 
> 
> moraband is the form korriban's name took closer to the clone wars, slightly before which the story would be set; celebrimbor would have lived before the rule of the two. 
> 
> i'm not sure what in me went from the shadow of war hype train to 'star wars!'. i guess i miss swtor, and i miss these two very much.

“DO NOT SAY THAT WORD-”

In a second, the ghost become terrible. Celebrimbor’s voice rang through the Force, and a breath of lightning sprang into the planet’s dry night.

Specks of dust and grains of sand rose into the air around where Talion was seated, but he knew better than to be afraid. Fear left him with blood that flowed from his slashed throat. He trumped it further into Moraband’s hot sand, when he rose after the ritual that claimed his life – and felt an ancient Jedi’s wrath run in his veins. When the kyber crystal obeyed his – or Celebrimbor’s – will, and nested itself into saber’s hilt. When he couldn’t deflect one of the cultists’ blaster shots, and smelled his own flesh burn… only to open his eyes anew.

So he merely gazed at his companion in surprise, trying to figure what in his last question prompted such a response.  

“I did not mean offense-”

“No, you didn’t.” Celebrimbor agreed, coming back to his usual shimmering presence and intoned Coruscanti archaisms. The dust settled. 

“But remember. There is no such thing.” The ghost wrinkled his nose, and Talion could nearly see him in flesh, surrounded by the grandeur of the Temple and reprimanding a wayward padawan. “As the Grey Jedi. There are just bad Jedi, and the cowards who are too terrified of the word Sith, because to say it means to admit who they are.”

They had a good thing going, Celebrimbor and him. They were both warriors after all – a Republic Commando and a Jedi Consular, bound together in un-death. They both went into battle for the Republic, prosperity, and peace – albite, many centuries apart. But, as it turned out, the years that sweep through the galaxy matter very little when the Force plays its tricks, and you stand up to face the Ancient Enemy.

Talion fought alongside Jedi – brilliant combatants, thoughtful strategists – but he never got to know one, as there always was an invisible distinction of purpose between the cloaked figures and the regular troops. But now, a Master Sage inhabited his mind – and a rather chatty one.  And Talion was grateful for that. Among the splendid destitute of the Valley of Dark Lords, the death they dealt daily, and the Force – it was hard to remember himself.

The Force. It took the pain away. He felt a part of him was already there, where his wife went. And with the Force, he could take another step and draw another breath. But it was too easy, to hold on to a promise, a memory. And after another kill, the power in him that was clear and luminous would become heavy with blood. And he would stumble through it like through fog, with the lightsaber’s hum, echo of Ioreth’s cry ripping through his chest with nothing but pain and anger.

And it was Celebrimbor that dragged him back to the Light – when he would step into the material world to deflect a deadly blow, offer guidance in lightsaber technique, or comment on the Sith Lords’ taste for overdramatic headwear. With someone to speak to him as an equal, Talion remembered himself to be a man, and that what he fought for, and whom he swore to protect.

He wasn’t sure what the Jedi remembered.

They searched crumbling tombs and abandoned palaces for holocrons and heirlooms, collecting shards of words long dead, and ambition long thought buried. And even though Talion felt Celebrimbor’s memories like his own, he did not fully understand them - it was like looking through notes jotted down on a data pad with someone else’s hand. But the more pieces of himself the Jedi gathered, the brighter the darkness within him burned, and the greater his wrath coiled - at Darth Sauron or at himself, Talion wasn’t sure.

And he couldn’t let it be. So, when they settled for rest among the ruins of some forgotten Lord’s glory, he began with what he knew, the Grey Jedi, a story passed along in spaceports and barracks. And, well… there was a distinct smell of ozone in the air.

“Who were you, then?” He tried again.

“A fool.”

“You realize that’s most of us.” Talion noted, settling back into his meager camp. He would appear to be talking to himself, if anyone in this place of death were listening. And there was a crudely crafted lightsaber on his belt. And he could step through the very fabric of the world. Things like that help develop an understanding for other men’s stories.

Celebrimbor eyed him down, and gestured around them – at the sweeping sands and broken statues of the Valley of Dark Lords.  But did not disappear into the Force.

“Who was Sauron?”

“You would know too well by now.”

“Beyond the Great Shadow of the East? Barely.” Talion delighted in his own stubbornness matching his companion’s.

The ghost sighed, folding his arms, and settled into one of the shadows that hugged the crevice.

“His name was Mairon. He first came to me as a Jedi, Master Annatar. He was after a rare skill I possessed, Battle Meditation. It could change the outcomes of combat before they started. Inspire thousands or make them flee in fear. And Sauron said he was a Seer, and a craftsman of great skill. That the Force could be amplified, and contained in an object, and I listened to him. And when Galadriel and the rest of the Council denounced him, I stood in his defense.”

"And you never knew who he was?”

“Darth Morgoth’s apprentice? A Sith?” Celebrimbor shook his head. “I saw, but I did not want to know, Talion. He shone brighter than Tatoo’s binary stars, and I did not want to stop looking. And in the years we spent together, it seemed… safe. We forged marvelous weapons, that brought strength to the Republic and glory to the Order. And in my pride, I thought I could learn, but not follow. But _it is such a quiet thing, to fall_.”

“But you fought him.” Talion said, after a silence they both honored.

“I fought him – and with all the power I gathered, I lost.” Celebrimbor’s lip curved, in memory of an old betrayal. “He took many lives with him, when he left the Temple with our final creation.”

“…the Ring.”

“Yes, the Ring. It was not until we have succeeded that I realized what I had done. The disciples we face here… their will is not fully their own. And the responsibility for that is mine.”

“No, Commando.” He continued, speaking the hard truth like a litany. “The Dark Side leaves a trace in you. It is not a tool to be used, or a technique to be mastered. It is an ocean not to drown in, a call not to hear. And I have paid a great price thinking that I could walk the line between it and the Light…

Sauron came to Moraband, to his old master’s tomb, to secure his own immortality – and I went after him. I thought to use the very weapon he wielded against him – and lost.”

Terrible scars cutting through the ghost’s willful features came out clearer in the dark, and Talion thought about how he did not know how Celebrimbor died. About how much he did not know.

"I wish they would remember us.” He said instead, “That someone would clear your name in the Jedi records, tell the command how my squad died.”

“Talion.” The ghost spoke, and its voice rustled like sand over the dunes. “There are no records. Darth Sauron’s very name is a half-forgotten legend, from what you tell me.

As if the Council would admit they had a Sith Lord walking around the Temple for years.” He chuckled, seeing his companion’s confusion. “There is no one left to judge me, Commando. I would honor the memory of your comrades, if I were more than a memory myself.”

“Celebrimbor.” Talion asked, quietly. “Why did you stay?”

“Because I did not know as whom the Force would take me.”

“As a Jedi.”

A rare smile cut through the ghost’s features, and he took his eyes away from Talion and to the horizon.

“I stayed because a part of me is bound to the Ring, as is a part of Sauron. And while his evil is polluting the galaxy, it will not be my time.”

“I will remain with you.” Talion spoke. “And this war is not yours alone.”

“I know.” Celebrimbor said, as the gust of wind ran through his non-corporeal form. “Thank you, my friend.”

And as he could not extend a hand to a phantom, Talion kept quiet for a while, peering into the darkness that laid ahead of them.

“Only no more Grey Jedi.” The ghost rustled, before fading into the Force.

“But when the call us the Greywalker?” Talion smirked to himself, and could _feel_ Celebrimbor roll his eyes somewhere beyond the material plane.

“Death will come for them shortly, Commando.”


End file.
